#vuurwerk #haat #vuurwerkverbod #oudennieuw

It was cold, drizzle. The strong wind made it a harsh evening and there was hardly any person on the shimmering, chilly streets. It was 8:00, and I was supposed to meet Wilbert here at his place. Or well, I waited outside: together we would cycle to the city, to Marcel. I was hidden deep in my coat, my scarf tight around my neck and my chin. I had found a sheltered place, a place that is common in this neighborhood. A covered, romantic passage that didn't feel particularly good at this time, but in terms of temperature this was the best I could find. Wilbert was getting ready and really would be there in minutes, he promised. A few bangs make it clear that today was indeed the last day of the year. Old and new. I felt anything but comfortable right now. It was shocked by every bang that was slightly close to detonation. And it was cold, too. My only wish now was to leave here, or, rather, enter Marcel. And drink that first cold beer in the cozy warmth.

*BOEM*, *BLAM*, *CLAMPER*, suddenly it sounds very close behind me. I fear the leplazarus and shrink panicly, but nothing happens anymore. Only the penetrating smell of sulfur fills the moist air around me. A space that's almost approaching. Vibrating. I turn around with my heart beating, terrified of what might come. Behind me, the greenish garbage can is now blackened and shattered. The space around is littered with garbage. The sheltered, romantic passage quickly fills with smoke. I see three guys running away. Smiling. Ha. That was a good bang.
It was an incident that was not unique at that time, but it was the most violent memory. Being old and new outside never felt safe in the Haagse Beemden. Cycling to the city was a hell-trip, which you wanted to complete as quickly as possible. Regularly fireworks were thrown at us. Quasi-innocent firecrackers, which you don't like in your collar anyway. The danger always threatened. Teenage boys strolled around the neighborhood with guns. Weapons that can intimidate, threaten, injure and worse. They cut off one piece after the other.

From an early age, I hated fireworks.

I always experience old and new as an annual moment of fearsome anarchism. From a few hours of power to the people. These people work individually, with one common weapon: fireworks. And with one common goal: dislocation. Police have no predominance, emergency services have the most traumatic night of the year. Are threatened, intimidated, hindered. Fireworks is the legal supply of weapons to civilians, I never understood. Because, yes, fireworks are weapons. Weapons that have to comply with strict legislation and yet regularly devastate body parts, sometimes fatal. For humans and animals. And of course, they're all incidents, but they're incidents for a ridicule reason. Often 'a stupid accident', but accidents that can simply be prevented. The combination of weapons and alcohol seems to me not immediately very happy. Neither is the combination of weapons and social dissatisfaction, as it is today

Because quite a high percentage of citizens who actually use these weapons are happy to buy just as sweet heavier stuff from abroad, to be a bit tougher and even more recalcitranter. Often against old and new there is already an x-number of litres of alcohol in it.

I like a little anarchism in time, but not everyone should be bothered by it. Man and animal experience fears. Old and new will not become a celebration, but a free pass for the simple soul. Civil disobedience? My ass! For hundreds of euros of fireworks for three hours to be a big boy. Because it all sounds so tough. Look, son, what Daddy dares?

Really, type up with fireworks. Forbid that crap by European regulations. Carbide shooting idem ditto. Maybe give people a nice fireworks show and sparklers at home. The fact that you can set a café on fire is undoubtedly true and a low point in Dutch history. But that was a (terrible) incident. And certainly no warp and impact, which fireworks are by definition.

Firework hatred